


Disintegration

by excaliburned



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excaliburned/pseuds/excaliburned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbly AU in which Sirius is not the wrongly accused - but this is not a happy ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disintegration

Remus has always thought of washing up as a tremendously _solitary_ activity. He's lost count of the amount of times he's come to some life changing decision with grubby plates under his soapy hands, and perhaps because of typically cliche muggle stories about women contemplating their wasted lives as they stare out of the kitchen window, elbow deep in fairy liquid, he's also always associated it with downright depression. So when they're done with the 'experimental' curry that Sirius has just 'experimentally' made, and Remus is fulfilling his assigned role as housewife, it forces a contemplation he's not quite sure he can stand.  
Of course, it wasn't always depressing. Once upon a time Sirius thought it was the cutest fucking thing that Remus would rather do this than use magic, and turned a deaf ear to Remus' protests of _"It isn't **cute** , it is **practical** , and therefore **manly** "_. Once upon a time there was cuddles from behind and scooping up bubbles to put on Sirius' head. Once upon a time there was -- well, there was something that isn't here any more, and Remus isn't sure when exactly it stopped being here.

\---

Dinner has never been a fairly chatty occasion. Sirius worships food almost as much as his own reflection, and as a result dinnertime is often tantamount to prayer. Although the silence between them now isn't exactly awkward, it's certainly silence in a very real, and a very tangible way. Silence used to come accompanied with Sirius' long, lingering looks which, lacking suspiciously in lust, always prompted Remus to ask a very wary sort of a _"...what?"_ \-- followed always by Sirius' _"just thinking about lovely you are"_. In spite of how predictable it was -- how disgustingly _smooth_ , how insufferably _suave_ \-- it would always, without fail, turn Remus from a sensible, cautious and reasonable sort of man into a lovesick, flushing, bumbling puppy, who of course had no choice but to toss his napkin at Sirius' head.  
The silence that accompanies dinner these days is the scariest thing that Remus has ever not-heard. This silence envelops like them James' old cloak used too -- effortlessly, completely, perfectly. It's a painful metaphor to consider, because the silence probably began to fall when James did, and Lily with him. Perhaps it fell when Peter was revealed to be a traitor -- carted off to Azkaban, only to escape almost immediately through a disguise that Sirius and Remus cannot reveal without incriminating themselves. Perhaps it even fell when little Harry was taken from them -- raised, for reasons Dumbledore won't reveal, by unloving Muggles in an unappreciative Muggle world.   
But, in all honesty, the silence was probably falling a little earlier than that. Although Remus likes to think back on the past as a time when all was well -- when even through the darkness of war they held onto each other and promised the light -- an uncomfortable voice in the back of his mind reminds Remus that this was not the case. Their problems began long ago, through not trusting, not confiding and, ultimately, not loving.

\---

Sirius has always been more of a Muggle enthusiast than the others -- a genuine interest borne out a genuine desire to offend and disgust his parents as much as possible. Not only with the motorbike, but also with his clothes, his food, and his music. Remus remembers well the day Sirius brought home his first guitar -- this battered, bruised old thing (has Sirius always been drawn towards the battered and the bruised? the guitar? the bike? remus?) -- grinning like an idiot, James by his side talking enthusiastically about the amazing band they were going to start with him on drums, Sirius on guitar, Peter on bass and Remus as the singer ( _"You've got a **lovely** voice Moony, what're you talking about?! And Sirius tells me you're particularly vocal in **some** areas.."_ ). Like most of Sirius' adopted hobbies Remus had expected it to be abandoned within a few weeks at most, but Sirius persisted and -- bloody typically -- became actually rather good.  
As they sit down after dinner that night on the sofa, idly playing with each others fingers (more out of habit than affection) and listening half-heartedly to the wireless, Sirius brings out the guitar and starts playing -- casually at first, but with increasing intent. The song he ends up singing isn't one that Remus had heard before, and though it isn't explicitly about the situation they've found themselves in, there are enough allusions to crumbling walls and the ravages of time for Remus to get the message. Of course, Sirius will say as he always says that his songs aren't about _anything_ , really, and that it's really only ever about the music -- but Remus knows that isn't true. The words have to come from somewhere, and Remus knows exactly where that somewhere is. He's got his own somewhere too, but hasn't ever been much of a singer.

\---

That night Remus suggests a walk to the beach -- mostly in search of something to do, being as the wireless has become boring and repetitive, and it's too early to go to sleep. It's the start of July and still light out -- warm enough for Sirius to wear shorts, but cool enough for Remus not to feel like an idiot about wearing a sweater -- and Sirius clambers up onto the rocks and yells about vicious crab attacks. There are enough clouds looming overhead for the beach to be deserted, but when Remus suggests the arrival of Padfoot, Sirius just shakes his head and makes a half-hearted excuse about being too lazy. He isn't Padfoot very often these days, and whenever he is it's by himself -- using the freedom of the dog form to run for miles and miles through the forests around their house, escaping something that Remus can only escape when the moon is full.  
Sirius liked to think of himself as something of a photographer back in the day -- forever snapping pictures of baby Harry and his baby adventures; pictures of Lily rolling her eyes as James wittered on to the camera about nothing; pictures of Remus in various states of disarray. It's something at least that Sirius had brought the camera along with them today, and when he takes a few pictures of Remus shielding his eyes to look out across the sea, the shutter sound of the camera provides a momentary reminder of something that really was.   
When the click-close of the shutter stops, it's replaced by soft footprints behind him, and then the warm and slightly laboured breath of Sirius stood behind him. Familiar arms encircle Remus' waist and he leans comfortably back into the hold, resting his head against Sirius', grateful of the sea air and the strong chest and the momentary ability to forget, and to pretend, and to remember.

\---

Sex gives him that too. It's much the same as it ever was -- hot, hard, heavy, and pretty fucking good. There's a desperation to it now though -- a need that wasn't always there, and it's a phsyical manifestation of their scrabbling, clinging attempts to hold onto an ever-eroding cliff face. Remus digs his fingers into Sirius' back and Sirius scrapes his teeth over Remus' throat, and they push and pull and grind and roll together in one fluid, beautiful moment. It's the only time that Sirius holds Remus' gaze for more than a moment -- but if he's honest, it's also the only time that Remus holds Sirius' gaze for more than a moment, too.  
And when they're done it's not the awkward silence and the rolling away that Remus would expect from this situation. Instead, Sirius holds onto Remus and Remus holds onto him, breathing out over the familiar feel of sweat-salt-soft skin. Sometimes Sirius will laugh softly and make some comment about how good it was or whatever, and occasionally he won't, but there's no real significance to it in either circumstance. It's just a thing that happens -- a moment that passes, as soft and as silently as moments so often pass these days. It isn't awkward, and if it's _hard_ it's not necessarily _difficult_ \-- if it _hurts_ , it's not necessarily _painful_ \-- because in spite of everything the love is still there, and a love that's lasted as long as theirs will always be something of a safety blanket.   
There will come a time when one of them will buy a new flat, or meet a new man, or simply just get up and go -- but that time is not today. Today is the consistent, continuing disintegration of the love that was -- the final lines in the final chapter of the greatest book Remus has ever read. Today ends with the the post-sex slumber of two well-worn, well-loved men in a well-worn and well-loved bed, holding each other in these forever familiar arms.


End file.
